


Parallels and Connections

by ohlawsons



Series: The Karris Legacy [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Asexual Character, F/F, F/M, asexual sith inquisitor, tags to be updated as i get to other classes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-04 08:46:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6650896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohlawsons/pseuds/ohlawsons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles and fics set before and during each of the class stories.</p>
<p>Update 8: "Jealous" [SI/Theron, IA & Theron]<br/>Update 9: [Smuggler/Corso]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One foot in another world [Agent]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from tumblr; set early/mid chapter 2 of the agent storyline.

As soon as the call ended, Zaara leaned forward onto the holoterminal, squeezing her eyes shut in a desperate attempt to keep from being overwhelmed.

Her mind rolled through a mental checklist, noting the seemingly endless list of things she needed to accomplish. _Check in with everyone I need to check in with: done. Brief the crew on tomorrow’s missions: done. Check up on Cori: too risky at the moment. Check inventory–_

_“_ You still owe me a drink, Agent.”

At Kaliyo’s voice, Zaara snapped to attention, standing up straight as she turned to face her. “I do?”

Kaliyo stood in the doorway to the bridge, leaning against the side with her arms crossed. “Sure,” she shrugged. “If you really want a reason to buy me a drink, I’m sure I can figure something out.”

Zaara didn’t bother hiding a sly grin. “And here I was afraid I’d lost a bet or something.”

“I couldn’t keep count of the bets you lose to me if I _tried_.” Kaliyo was silent for a moment, expression uncharacteristically thoughtful as she watched Zaara. “It’s creepy, you know.”

“What is?”

“ _You_.” Kaliyo pushed off from the wall, taking a seat in one of the empty chairs. “You call your SIS friends and you’re the most obedient little Republic spy. Here on the ship you’re a hard ass. Off duty…” she paused, shrugging, “you’re the kinda person I’d be alright hanging around with.”

Waving off her comments, Zaara pointed out, “I _am_ undercover. Having a reliable alias is the whole point.”

“But just like that? Flip of a switch, and you’re someone new?”

Burying her annoyance at the questioning – considering the circumstances, that particular subject was a rather raw one – Zaara plastered a grin on her face and turned so she was facing Kaliyo again. “If that’s what the job requires. Didn’t think that would bother you.”

“It doesn’t bother me. Just makes me wonder who I’ve really signed on with, you know?” Without another word, Kaliyo stood and stalked off, leaving Zaara alone again.

“I think I should get some sleep,” Zaara announced to no one, sighing.  Maybe the constant switching of identities didn’t bother Kaliyo, but it _was_ beginning to wear on Zaara.

 


	2. All in the past [Smuggler/Corso]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little info-dump fic of sorts, set soon after Margaret and Corso arrive on Coruscant.

“Captain Sala, what a pleasure.”

Margaret glanced up at the twi'lek beside her, sizing her up before shrugging. “Sorry, kid, I don’t have time for old friends or debts or whatever it is you want.”

The twi'lek’s gaze drifted to the drink Margaret was nursing, a frown just shy of becoming a sneer set on her lips. “I see.”

From beside Margaret, Corso watched the twi'lek leave with bright-eyed curiosity. “Old friend?” he echoed.

“Mmm, maybe,” she groaned, running a hand through her thick mess of blonde hair. “Mutual friend, I think. My–” Her words faltered. “Guy I used to know worked with her a while back. I think.” Margaret turned her thoughts to the din of the cantina and the cold glass in her hand, putting what little effort she could muster up into relaxing.

“You have a lot of, ah, old friends?”

Margaret considered the question for several minutes, taking another sip of her drink before settling on an answer. “Contacts, old business partners,” she listed off, counting on her fingers, “a handful of enemies, a pilot I owe a lot of money, an on-again-off-again boyfriend, and at least two people in Dromund Kass that want to kill me.”

Corso let out a low whistle. “Didn’t realize you had such a reputation, Captain.”

“And I work _very_ hard to keep it looking like that.” She snorted, peering down into her now empty glass. “‘Course, the Sith are unavoidable.”

Motioning for the bartender to bring them both new drinks, Corso turned to Margaret with a hint of a grin. “If you’d told me we’d be runnin’ from Sith I might not’ve tagged along,” he joked.

“What can I say? I’m a popular woman. Helps that I’ve had a target on my back since before I was even born, though.” Margaret waited for for Corso to pry for an explanation; when he didn’t – despite the burning curiosity written all over his face – she sighed and explained anyway. “Might as well get this over with now,” she muttered. “I was born in that Imperial pisshole of a city. Mom was Sith, and found herself on the wrong end of a power play. She ran with me and my baby sister, assassins caught up with her, and I’ve been running ever since.”

As Margaret lifted her gaze from the bar to gauge Corso’s reaction, he quickly turned his wide-eyed stare to look blankly at the wall past her. “I… can’t say I was expecting that,” he admitted. “But… I’m sorry. About your family.”

Running a finger along the rim of her new glass, Margaret sighed. “Me too, kid.” They sat in uncomfortable silence for several minutes; Corso shifted in his seat and tapped his fingers along the bar in an uneven rhythm, and Margaret finally gave in. “Whatever burning questions you’ve got – shoot.”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t wanna pry, Captain.”

“Then let me be plain with you, Corso,” she deadpanned. “My sex life is off limits. So is the story behind any scars I have. And I’m not giving up my secrets to great hair. Everything else is fair game.”

“I wasn’t gonna ask–”

“I know you weren’t,” Margaret interrupted, the alcohol beginning to give her words a challenging edge she wouldn’t have had while completely sober. “So just ask whatever you were going to.”

“Back on Ord Mantell,” he began, still hesitant, “you said you grew up on Nar Shaddaa.”

“You callin’ me a liar, farm boy?” she challenged, shooting him a lopsided grin. Speaking over Corso as he tried to defend himself, Margaret nodded. “I did grow up there, sort of. Seven years in Dromund Kass, few months here in Coruscant, two years in a few different cities all over the place, more weeks than I can count on starships and shuttles, and ended up on Nar Shaddaa. Haven’t been back since.”

Margaret watched as Corso absorbed the new information, the tension in his jaw and shoulders not escaping her notice. She’d had more than one partner leave after learning about her past, and so far had no doubts Corso would do the same after Skavak was taken care of.

But to her surprise, he simply sighed and apologized. “Sorry, Captain, just tryin’ to keep all this straight with what you said back on Ord.”

In no state to actually recall whatever he was referring to, Margaret simply flashed him what she hoped was a charming smile. “That was one part creative interpretation and one part blatant lies. I’ll let you decide what’s what.”

 


	3. Partners [SW & Vette]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during the Black Talon flashpoint, during the initial call from Satele.

“Grandmaster. It’s an honor, truly.”

Vette watches with some surprise as Lys gives a deep bow to the woman on the holo, her voice filled with the same respect she gives to Baras. Vette shares a quick glance with the captain before turning back to see how these _negotiations_ will play out.

_Sith_ and _negotiations_ aren’t something she typically paired together in her mind; but _first time for everything_ , and all that.

The Grandmaster’s surprise is quickly concealed. “I hadn’t expected to encounter such civility from a Sith. Perhaps we can resolve the situation without further hostility.”

“I believe so.” Lys takes a few slow steps as she paces in front of the holoterminal, never going far enough to step out of the Jedi’s view. She does that often, Vette has noticed — pacing, fidgeting, playing at the edge of her robe sleeves — and though they haven’t traveled together long, Vette can already sense a pattern.

Do the best thing for the Sith, do the best thing for the Empire, kill as few innocent people as possible. Rinse, repeat. When any of the three goals are at odds, Lys gets nervous; Vette wonders whether it’s letting a Jedi walk away or the possibility of disobeying Kilran’s direct orders that have Lys so on edge.

“We have discovered an Imperial prisoner aboard the _Brentaal Star_ ,” she reveals. “Return him to us, and we may depart peacefully. If not, we can and will take him by force.”

“No. Your _prisoner_ has a role to play within the Republic. You will leave without him.”

Vette only just holds back a snicker; as far as negotiations go, this is a fairly terrible one.

“Remember this.” Lys doesn’t turn her gaze from the holo, though her words are directed at the captain. “When offered a peaceful solution by a Sith, the Jedi choose not to cooperate. My deepest apologies it had to end this way, Grandmaster.” With another small bow, she cuts the line and turns to sweep out of the room, beckoning for Vette to follow. “Prepare a shuttle, Captain.”

Trailing behind Lys, it isn’t until they’re standing opposite each other in an elevator down to the shuttle bay that Vette notices the Sith’s wide-eyed stare and the way her jaw clenches. “Are… you okay? My lord?” The title is added on as a hasty afterthought; the ever-present weight of the shock collar on her neck reminds Vette to keep her concern in check.

Nice or not, Lys _is_ still Sith.

“Stupid,” she mutters in answer. “Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. Can you believe it?”

“Believe what?”

Lys turns to her, shoulders slumping and the panic clear in her expression. “That was the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order,” she states plainly. “ _Satele Shan_. And I ended the holocall on her.”

It takes a moment for the words to really sink in, and Vette’s surprise is the only thing that keeps her from laughing outright at the absurdity of the situation — she’s traveling with the _one Sith_ who would worry that she’d disrespected a Jedi. “On the bright side, she’ll probably forget all about it once she finds out you’re attacking her ships.” She dares a sidelong glace towards Lys, instinctively expecting some display of outrage at her glib comments.

But it’s _Lys_ , and not those overseers and lords from the Academy, and she cracks a tight-lipped smile. “I suppose she will, won’t she?” The elevator reaches the shuttle bay, and she motions for Vette to lead. As they near the shuttle, the officer standing nearby regards them with complete and utter confusion.

“We’re prepared for departure, my lord. I, ah, wasn’t aware you’d be bringing your, erm… slave?” He falters, tone rising questioningly at the end of the sentence.

Vette rolls her eyes and bites back a smart comment; the combination of blasters and shock collar seem to confuse most of the Imperials she and Lys have met. But Lys corrects him, sharply insisting that Vette isn’t a _slave_ , though she doesn’t clarify what exactly she _is_ , either. It’s a question Vette hasn’t quite mustered up the courage to ask, despite the fact that it’s been eating at her since… well, since they first ventured out into the tombs together, and her wry taunts towards Vemrin were met with an approving grin from Lys.

Once they’re seated in the shuttle, she brings the topic up the best way she can think. “Can’t really blame the guy, can you? I mean, slave collars do usually go on, you know, _slaves_.”

Lys offers a sympathetic smile, and begins what Vette assumes is an apology, when she suddenly stops and grimaces. “Baras, he… _gave_ you to me? You’re… mine? To do with as I wish?”

Vette freezes, subconsciously beginning to lean away from the Sith. The only comfort — and it’s an incredibly _minor_ one — is how entirely uncomfortable the words seem to make Lys. “Yes?”

“So I could… take it… _off_?”

“…yes?”

As if struck by some sort of inspiration, Lys motions for Vette to come closer and removes the collar, letting it clang loudly onto the shuttle floor. She looks far more pleased with herself than Vette thinks she really should, but she certainly isn’t going to argue. She rubs at the back of her neck, glad to be free of the collar’s weight. “If I’d known it would be that easy, I would’ve asked back on Korriban,” she jokes, giving a quiet laugh that’s more than a little nervous.

Sith aren’t supposed to be this… _whatever_ it is that Lys is, but she seems as uncomfortable and awkward about the arrangement as Vette is.

“I don’t know that I would’ve removed it then.”

Ah. Well that, at least, was appropriately Sith-y.

“I might have,” Lys continues, clearly conflicted by they hypothetical situation. “I would’ve _liked_ to, but I wouldn’t want to have appeared to be undermining Lord Baras’ authority. But now, I don’t believe that’s a concern any longer. There’s no need for you to continue to be mistaken for a slave.”

Vette leans back, stretching her legs out in front of her and crossing them at the ankles. Her capture on Korriban has certainly led to… curious circumstances. “So… _how_ do we continue?”

“Partners?”

“Partners,” she repeats, the word strange given its current connotation. “Me and my friend, the Sith. I think that could… work.” She can’t trust Lys — not completely, not yet — but neither can she deny that she’s far different from other Sith. She debates leaving — not _now_ , of course, not when they’re rushing headlong onto a ship filled with angry Jedi, what what about later? When they arrive on Dromund Kaas, or whatever other planet they end up on? It would be too easy to slip away — she’s good at that, after all — and get back to everything she’d been up to prior to Korriban.

And yet, the prospect of working alongside Lys as equals is almost beginning to sound… appealing. It’s certainly not going to work as a longterm arrangement, Vette suspects, but for now? If Lys keeps her word, Vette could see herself sticking around for a bit.


	4. Baking [JK/Lana]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt "You really... That's not exactly meant to be eaten" on tumblr. Set about 3 or so years into the timeskip. Karina is the human kiddo Cori adopts post-Ziost.

“Karina, _what_ in the world are you making?” The sternness in Lana’s voice was somewhat offset by the fact that she had arms full of groceries, with her head just peeking out over the top. She placed the bags down on the counter, shoving away a myriad of ingredients that the 10 year old had pulled out while she’d been gone. 

“Cake cookies,” Karina announced triumphantly, stirring the batter with a renewed vigor. “I couldn’t decide between cake or cookies so we’re making both.”

As Cori went to help Lana unpack the groceries, she placed a light kiss to her cheek. “They’re just cupcakes,” she informed her quietly, “but don’t tell her that.”

Lana was silent for a moment, watching first Cori then Karina, one eyebrow arched upwards in doubt. “I thought you said you’d be making dinner.”

“This _is_ dinner.” Satisfied, Karina hopped off the chair she’d been standing on and made her way over to the counter where all her ingredients where spread out, pushing up onto her tip toes as she searched through them. 

Lana sighed. “You’re not– Karina, that’s not for eating.” She reached out with the Force to pluck something out of Karina’s hands, neatly catching a small container marked _oil_  as she turned back to Cori. “At this point I’m not sure if I even care if this is Blizz or Cera, but between the two of them and all their blaster parts and torn up armor and pieces of _who knows what else_ …” Lana cut off with another sharp sigh. “I know your sister valued their services, but _really_.” She held the container up for emphasis.

Before Cori could point out the advantages of having a professional bounty hunter on the security detail, Karina plodded over to where the two were standing, waving both a batter-covered spoon and the datapad displaying the recipe she’d been reading from.

“The recipe says to add oil but it tastes good already.” Karina took a bite of the gooey batter as it slowly slid down the spoon, nodding sagely as if she’d made her point.

Giving Cori a _Force help us_ look, Lana took the datapad and placed a gentle hand on Karina’s back, leading her back to the bowl she’d mixed the batter in. “It’s a different sort of oil, Rina. Specifically for cooking.” She set the datapad down on the counter, reaching down to lift Karina back up onto the chair she’d been standing on before. “You have to be very precise with baking.”

Cori paused unloading the groceries, simply watching as Lana and Karina finished the cupcakes together. It was easy -- especially at times like this -- to forget that their current situation wasn’t permanent, that the safehouse they were holed up in was less a home and more a workplace. Soon, both she and Lana would need to once again go their separate ways to tend to matters far too important to hold off on.

They had a whole new Empire to contend with, but for the moment, she was happy to spend the evening baking.

 


	5. Ridiculous [SW/Quinn]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from imzy: _ridiculous_

 “It’s ridiculous.”

“Nonsense, Malavai,” Lys chided, giving her husband a soft smile before leaning against the open doorway, watching as Ada ran across the wide balcony. “Look at how much she’s enjoying herself.”  


The evening had seen a break in the rain, and Ada had been quite insistent over the past several days about trying out  her new nexu-print rain boots, sent to her by her Favorite Auntie Vette -- a title Lys was certain the twi’lek wore with pride -- and was now splashing around in the puddles left by the recent downpour.  


“She certainly deserves a break,” Malavai admitted, still managing to sound somewhat nonplussed despite his expression being one of pure adoration. He watched Ada for a moment longer, a frown beginning to form as he declared, “She could’ve sent something in a more sensible color.”

So the annoyance _did_ stem from the fact that Ada enjoyed Vette’s gift over the drab rain gear currently sitting in her closet. “Yes, the bright blue _does_ clash with the bright pink raincoat and umbrella, doesn’t it?” Lys teased, feigning a thoughtful expression.  


“Perhaps we should--” Malavai’s words were cut off as Ada squealed in delight as the rain picked up once more, racing across the balcony to drag Malavai out with her.  


_Ridiculous_ , Lys thought with a smile, content to simply continue watching the two of them -- at least, until Ada returned, giggling, to pull her mother out into the rain.


	6. "Recompense" Outtake [SW, IA, Lana Beniko]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a piece I'd written a few months back when I started rewriting Recompense. It takes place after ch. 1 -- towards the beginning of Forged Alliances -- and doesn't quite fit in with the condensed outline I'm working with now. However, it's got a couple important plot tidbits in it, and honestly I really like how I wrote Lana here, so I figured I'd go ahead and post it.

Lana hated pacing. Ultimately, all it did was expend an unnecessary amount of energy and didn’t do anything to increase productivity.

And yet, she found her self doing precisely that — pacing around Arkous’ office, pausing every so often to check for new messages. Lana had little else to do until Arkous returned, and the time-sensitive nature of their mission was beginning to test her nerves. Arkous himself had gone to greet the Wrath; he considered it to be only proper to be there to meet her in person when she arrived. There had been no further word from Cipher Nine — Arkous had confirmed her identity, it seemed — only that she had agreed to meet with them.

As Lana slowed again, picking up her datapad, she was stopped by the appearance of two women — one togruta and one human — in the doorway to the office. Gently placing the datapad back down, Lana cleared her throat. “Agent Ven, I presume?”

“Miss Beniko, I presume?” the togruta echoed, tone serious but expression playful. “I spoke with Arkous when we landed. He said his advisor would be waiting for me.”

“Yes.” She gave a curt nod. “Darth Arkous should be returning momentarily. I can brief you, in the meantime, but your associate—”

“—is part of an incredibly classified Intelligence initiative,” Agent Ven finished. “This is Ensign Temple. She’s training under me. She goes where I go.”

The ensign glanced over at the agent, but said nothing. Lana supposed she could accept the explanation, and chose not to pry about the woman’s connection to the Force — it was well-hidden, faint but still unmistakable. A curiosity, but ultimately irrelevant.

“The final decision will be up to Arkous,” Lana cautioned, “but for now, she may stay.”

“Good. And I don’t think he’ll have any objections. We met earlier,” Ven explained, voice nonchalant, as if working with esteemed members of the Dark Council was an everyday occurrence. Which, given her reputation, it might’ve been. “He wanted to have a few words with the Wrath first, but they should be along soon.”

“Understood.” Lana once again checked her datapad for messages — this time suppressing her urge to pace — and, as Ven had suggested, it was only a few moments before Arkous arrived, followed closely by the Emperor’s Wrath. Instead of the sleek red and black armor she was known to wear, Darth Evris was in simple crimson robes, her loose blonde hair cascading down her back. She was accompanied by two other humans, both of whom Lana recognized — one was Darth Evris’ apprentice, the other was her husband, a captain who’d served with her for as long as she’d been in the public eye.

Lana supposed it would be in poor taste to comment on their recent wedding, given that they’d gone to such lengths to avoid the continued public interest in the affairs. Instead, she gave a quick bow. “My lord, it’s an honor.”

Evris nodded in acknowledgment. “The honor is mine. Darth Arkous speaks highly of you.”

“I’m only doing my duty to my lord and my Empire, same as anyone.”

“Indeed,” Arkous commented, “but there are those who serve because it is what they know, and those who serve with unmatched dedication and tenacity. The two of you — Darth Evris and Agent Ven — are the latter, and will bring _glory_ to the Empire today.”


	7. Scars [SI/Theron]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which rei's kinda fucked up, theron kinda missed her, and neither of them are good with the Feelings
> 
> set on odessen during kotfe

“This is new.”

Rei let out an involuntary shiver as Theron’s fingers traced along her bare shoulder. She set the datapad she’d been reading down on the bed in front of her, shifting and twisting to look back at her shoulder even though she was already fairly certain she knew what he was referring to; a freshly-healed scar ran across her upper back, gnarled and grey against the chalky white of her skin, and Rei stared at it for a few moments before giving a little shrug. “I lose track,” she lied, propping herself back up to continue her reading.

She knew every mark and scar on her body and had long since memorized them, each one a reminder of some failure or fault from her past. Rei could close her eyes and see the the brands that marred her face and throat, could blindly trace the scar from Thanaton that ran from her right collarbone to just above her left hip, could recite a list of every other blemish that marked her.

Some she remembered receiving, like the gash along her right forearm that Zash had given her years before during her attempted betrayal. Others, like the scar shaped like a blaster mark on the outside of her thigh, were simply _there_. The one Theron had noticed — the one still half-hidden by her tank top, that trailed from her left shoulder to the nape of her neck and crossed over the violet tattoos that ran along her spine — was from a skytrooper, she thought; Rei was only certain that she’d acquired it the last time she had been on Zakuul.

“I don’t.” Theron’s voice was low, his breath warm against Rei’s skin; he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her shoulder and his hand moved to settle at her waist. “You rack up quite a few for someone so invincible.”

“I’ve died like three times,” she pointed out, still feigning interest in the reports she’d given up reading, “so I think a scar or two is to be expected.”

“Three? Seems excessive.” He kissed her again — and a third time, and a fourth, lips trailing along her shoulder up to her neck.

Stubbornly holding back a little sound of contentment, Rei frowned and tried to remember if she’d ever told Theron exactly what had happened with Thanaton and all the Force ghosts still trapped within her mind. She searched through the memories of all the time they’d had together, her thoughts jumping from the nightmares of Ziost to long nights on the Yavin moon to their meeting on Manaan to the way he was currently pressed against her, legs entwined with hers and hands not quite roaming.

“You’re insufferable,” she groaned, discarding the datapad on the bedside table with a sigh. All she’d wanted was to do a bit of light reading before bed; she could sense Theron’s concern now, however, the same way she sensed it whenever she returned from a mission. It was… nice, even if it was unwarranted. Rei knew it wasn’t that he doubted her — he’d seen firsthand how capable she was in combat, after all — but that it was mired in _whatever_ it was that had changed since they’d been reunited.

Perhaps they should discuss it.

Perhaps later.

Rei shifted so she was facing Theron, propping her head up just enough to give him a disapproving look. “With all that’s gone on in the past few years, it’s highly likely that I’m the most powerful surviving Sith in the entire galaxy.” She punctuated the statement by jabbing an accusatory finger into the center of his chest. “You don’t get to be all clingy and worried when I can singlehandedly tear this base apart.”

One eyebrow quirked upwards in amusement, and Theron took her hand in his own and laced their fingers together. “Worried, maybe, but I don’t know about _clingy_. Besides, that doesn’t really mean anything — not when you _always_ think you’re the most powerful Sith in the galaxy.”

He had a point; Rei grumbled something beneath her breath about fighting Acina just to prove it. Letting out a frustrated huff of breath, she tugged her hand free and settled back into bed, frowning up at the ceiling for a few moments before saying anything. The mood in her quarters had changed, shifting from something light and comfortable to an air that was heavy and hesitant. “I assumed you would’ve figured it out by now, that there’s nothing out there that can kill me — not yet. It’s going to take a _lot_ more than a few skytroopers to keep me from coming back from a mission.”

“That’s what I thought a few years ago.”

 _Ah_. If that’s where his worry came from…

They hadn’t ever really discussed it, the fact that Rei had been gone for nearly five years; at least, they hadn’t discussed what it meant for _them_. There had been a conversation, of sorts, when she’d arrived on Odessen and they’d picked things right back up where they’d left them after Ziost. Other than that — nothing. Rei had spent too much of her time since being freed from the carbonite searching for revenge, using every mission as a means to channel the rage and grief that were nearly consuming her.

Rei had been too preoccupied with all the things that _she_ _’d_ lost to even consider how Theron had felt; even though he hadn’t spent the time locked helplessly in carbonite, the years hadn’t exactly been kind to him, either. He’d mentioned it, at times, that he’d missed her or that he wanted her to be careful on a mission, but it had always seemed like nothing more than a thoughtless remark, something done primarily out of habit.

It was different, now, spoken with quiet sincerity between just the two of them.

“Theron—”

But the words stuck in her throat, heavy and uncertain; how was she supposed to explain — to _justify_ — that she would always return? Bravado would only keep her alive for so long, she knew, and for a moment Rei felt as if she were once again in a med bay, waking up beside a frustrated and sleepless Andronikos after her disastrous first encounter with Thanaton, half-crazed from the visions and phantom pains imposed upon her by the Force spirits she’d intended to bend to her will.

She’d survived that. She’d bested the spirits. She’d risen to the uppermost echelons of the Sith, and even now she commanded fear and loyalty and respect across the entire Empire — yet the punchline was that it was all an accident, that she’d quite literally stumbled into her power and position. Still, in the years since acquiring it all, Rei had _learned_ , had studied and practiced and observed; if she could rise to the top once by mistake, surely she could do so again on _purpose_.

“If I ever don’t return,” she said when her voice finally returned to her, “it’s because I’m taking Zakuul with me.”

“I know. Wouldn’t really expect anything different from you, at this point.” Theron’s voice was tired as he answered, filled with a resignation and weariness that made her regret saying anything at all. “I know what I signed on for.”

Wordlessly, Rei let him pull her closer, resting her head on his chest as he held her. She didn’t like the turn their conversation had taken, but neither did she want these things to remain unspoken; it was good, in a way, to know Theron understood — to hear that he agreed — that she wouldn’t ever be anything but a force of destruction. She was going to tear apart Arcann and Zakuul and everyone responsible for upending her life, and nothing short of death would stop her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoooo okay so i'm slowly getting back into swtor after not touching it for a while. i've written nothing but mass effect for like two months and needed something to sort of ease back into writing swtor, so i started this and it ended up totally not being what i thought but hey! it's an update.


	8. Jealous [SI/Theron, IA & Theron]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from tumblr: _"I'm not jealous"_

A flash of lightning lit up the hangar bay, and the resulting thunder rumbled ominously through the mostly-empty room. The occasional gust of wind drove rain into the hangar, leaving the floor wet for a few meters at the entrance.

Rei and Zaara were much further inside, in no danger of getting wet; the area they’d set up to spar in was closer to the back of the hangar, not far from where Beywan typically oversaw what little military force the Alliance currently had. Theron himself was up on one of the crosswalks, looking down into the hangar bay. He’d originally stopped by to speak with Beywan, but had found himself somewhat distracted by the sparring practice going on.

He hadn’t known that Rei had any skill in hand-to-hand combat, though he’d practiced with Zaara, a few times, when she was still trying to get back on her feet after being released from the carbonite. Theron watched as they went back and forth, unable to keep from making notes to himself; they were both quick, but Zaara was more precise and Rei never missed the opportunity to make a strike.

As another crack of thunder boomed through the hangar, Zaara took two quick hits that knocked Rei off of her feet — Theron winced; it was a hard fall, even with the mats they’d set up to train on — but Rei rolled and popped up, still grinning.

“I’m done for the day,” Zaara surrendered, holding her hands up and taking a step backwards. “But it was good.”

Theron couldn’t make out Rei’s response, but she disappeared off to the side as Zaara slowly made her way up to the crosswalk. “Something tells me you’ll be sore in the morning,” he guessed, giving the agent an understanding smile as she joined him.

“You’re just—” a groan, as Zaara sat down beside him, “— _jealous_ that I got to spend—” another groan, this time accompanied by a pained laugh as she leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes, “—the entire afternoon with your girlfriend.”

“Considering she just kicked your ass? I’m not even a _little_ jealous.”

“Give me _some_ credit,” she defended weakly, one eye cracking back open. “And how can you say that? You don’t want the pleasure of having a Sith lord leaving you all bruised and sore?”

Theron raised an eyebrow, amused by Zaara’s theatrics. “I’m smart enough not to _let_ her,” he shot back, turning back to lean on the railing. Below them, Rei had reappeared, dragging one of the training dummies out into the center of the hangar; it was taller than she was and probably at least as heavy, and after a few steps of awkwardly struggling, Rei gave the dummy a push with the Force and stomped off after it. She was still facing away from them, but Theron could easily imagine the little scowl she no doubt wore, nose scrunched and brow furrowed.

“Besides,” he added, eyes still locked on Rei as she perused the collection of training weapons, hands planted firmly on her hips, “we get enough of _bruised and sore_ without the extra sparring sessions.”

With as loud as the rain and thunder were, Theron almost missed Zaara’s low, quiet laughter. “Getting a bit personal there, aren’t we?”

Theron rolled his eyes, even though he was still facing away from her; Rei had no interest in sleeping with him or anyone else, and Zaara — whether because she was nosy or because she was friends with both of them — knew that. “Very funny.”

“I thought so. Have—” Her words were cut off by a particularly loud crack of thunder, and when the hangar returned to relative quiet, Zaara repeated, “Have any of the others shown up? There was a betting pool for who would last the longest in a match against the commander, and I have credits on that Sith instructor with the good hair. You know, the one who used to be an overseer?”

“Just Rei, for now.” She was back in the center of the room, circling the training dummy and holding what looked like a simplified electrostaff. “And there’s really a betting pool?” Theron asked with a shake of his head, glancing back at Zaara before turning back to where Rei was rolling her shoulders, taking the staff in both hands.

Zaara scoffed. “Of _course_ there is. You know, as worried as everyone was about putting a Sith in charge, she’s really brought the whole Alliance together. Not... quite how we wanted,” she admitted, “but it’s a start.”

There was a loud, echoing _thwack_ as Rei gave the training dummy an experimental hit with the staff. She took a step back, and — evidently satisfied — dropped into a lower stance and began a series of complex steps and maneuvers; her movements were practiced but far from graceful, and the attacks would’ve seemed almost sloppy if not for the ease with which she performed them and the power that she put behind each hit. It was different — almost startlingly so — than how she typically attacked with her light-saber, where each movement was crisp and sharp and deliberate.

This was… desperate. It was little more than brute force.

“Never would’ve guessed anything but a lightsaber would be a Sith’s weapon of choice,” Theron commented, thinking out loud more than making conversation.

Zaara sat up straighter, glancing out into the hangar bay. “Does that really look like something they teach at the academy?” she asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. “That’s from before. So is everything she knows about vibroblades — which is as entertaining as it is embarrassing to watch.”

“Before?”

She cocked her head to the side, hesitating. “Rei hasn’t told you,” she guessed.

That was enough to fully redirect Theron’s attention. “Told me what?” He didn’t know much about Rei’s life before joining the Sith — and as he thought about it, he realized he knew _nothing_ about her life before the Sith. It hadn’t bothered him up to that point; after all, Rei had been on the Dark Council when he’d met her, and any information the SIS had on her and anything she’d been willing to discuss had all involved her being _Sith_. Logically, he knew there had been _something_ before then, but he hadn’t put too much thought into it.

“Not my place,” Zaara said with a shake of her head. “And I’d suggest waiting until she _doesn_ _’t_ have a weapon in hand before asking about it. It’s not exactly her favorite topic.” Before Theron could ask anything else, she pulled herself up and began making her way back down the crosswalk. “Reiyaxa, dear,” she called out, voice just loud enough to be heard over the storm, “Theron’s feeling neglected. I’d remedy that, if I were you.” She turned to give him a grin and a wink before disappearing through the door to the rest of the base.

At any other point, Theron would’ve been grateful. But considering whatever secrets Zaara didn’t want to spill, he couldn’t help but feel a bit uneasy. “Don’t worry about me,” he assured Rei. “I’m more than happy to stay up here and enjoy the show.” She grinned up at him, and Theron was left alone to mull the situation over in his mind as she continued with the training dummy.

There couldn’t be anything in Rei’s past that was much worse than being Sith, and Theron would have to take that little bit of comfort until he decided to breach the subject.


	9. 09 [Smuggler/Corso]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was cleaning out my drafts on tumblr and found this from like two years ago. it's cute so hey! two updates at once

"This is a fantastic idea."

"I have to disagree, Captain."

"C'mon, Corso," Margaret whined, "you're no fun." As they entered the Republic base, she slipped her hood back out of her face and tightened her hold on Corso's arm with her free hand.

"It's freezing," Corso argued lightly. "I can't feel my fingers, or my ears, or my toes-"

"Corso Riggs." Margaret stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "You said you wanted to court me proper, so you get back out there and take me on a date." She did her best to be imposing - or even just stern enough to be taken seriously - but she wasn't sure she could even take _herself_ seriously when she knew she was drowning her winter gear and her hair was likely sticking up in every direction.

Sure enough, Corso just stared at her for a moment with a bright-eyed grin. He finally gave his head a little shake, chuckling. "Speeder racing this late on Hoth isn't exactly what I'd call a date."

"But you'll take me anyway, because you can't say no to this face?"

"I'm gonna take you." Still grinning, he dipped his head down for a quick kiss.

* * *

"It'll be fun, Corso. Nothing'll go wrong, Corso. We'll be back before dark, Corso."

"Yeah, yeah," Margaret grumbled. "You can rub it in once I've defrosted." Crossing her arms tighter over her chest, she huddled closer to Corso while they waited for the doors to the base to open. To their surprise, they found Risha waiting, looking as close to worried as Margaret had ever seen her.

She narrowed her eyes as they approached. "You don't come back when you're supposed to, you don't even call, and then I have to find out from the Commander that you've taken speeders out to who knows where."

"Someone-" Corso nudged Margaret, "-thought that since things were nice and uneventful today, we should take advantage of the peace and quiet."

Risha pinched the bridge of her nose, groaning. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"It was fine until about an hour ago," Margaret defended.

"It was fine until you drove your speeder straight into a snowbank," Corso corrected.

"You did _what_?"

Margaret winced. "On a completely unrelated note, most of what we made on that last job will need to be sent to the Republic requisition services here on Hoth." Hoping to avoid the worst of Risha's temper, Margaret grabbed hold of Corso's coat as best she could with her thick gloves and led him onto the ship.

Once they were back in the relative warmth of her ship, Margaret peeled off her gloves and the first of two scarves. Letting herself sag against the wall, she gave a heavy sigh. "Sorry," she offered quietly, one of her now-bare hands absentmindedly toying with a clasp on the front of Corso's coat. "We've been going non-stop doing work for the senator, and I just thought..." She looked up, finally meeting his eyes. "I wanted to have some fun, you know? Just you and me."

"I had fun," Corso immediately insisted. "Not... the sort of fun I want to have again, 'course."

They were interrupted by the hiss of the airlock as Risha entered. Silently, Corso took a step towards Margaret so Risha could slip past them. Rather than letting him move back, Margaret refused to relinquish hold of his coat. She stood on her tip toes for a warm kiss, grinning as she pulled away. "How about some fun I know you'll like? You, me, some wine, and a game of cards?"

He matched her grin. "Deal."


End file.
